


the Spider and the Fly

by Kellec



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1890s Mexico, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Blood, Blood Drinking, Frottage, Inspired by Fanart, Just pretend the pill swap never happened, M/M, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, historically inaccurate underwear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23405689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kellec/pseuds/Kellec
Summary: Nacho had heard of vampires before. They lived in the dark corners of the hand-me-down legends his father had told him as a boy. Those vampires had been cold, pale, horrific to look at. None of them had been as warm or as inviting as Lalo.Nacho takes a risk. Lalo sees him coming from a mile away.
Relationships: Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga
Comments: 13
Kudos: 35





	the Spider and the Fly

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [DracuLalo](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/575689) by krokorobin. 



> Hi all! This fic is inspired by krokorobin on tumblr and their absolutely gorgeous DracuLalo art linked above. Please go give it some love!
> 
> This is my first fanfic in a long while and my first time actually publishing smut, so any feedback would be greatly appreaciated x

Nacho’s hand hesitates as he reaches for the great oak door before him. He uncurls his hand from a fist and stretches out his fingers to find them shaking. He sighs and scolds himself. No fear, no guilt. If Lalo sensed even the slightest hesitation in him tonight, it would be over.

He reaches down and feels the outline of the wooden stake against his hip. It’s slim, flat along one side and slightly curved, which makes it mercifully easy to conceal. With patience, self-control and the greatest amount of luck, he’ll be using that stake within the next few hours to land the killing blow against his boss.

The Salamanca family had owned Nacho’s town since the War of Independence. It contained one of the richest iron mines in the state, which made them one of the most powerful families in the country. Nothing happened within a hundred miles without them knowing about it. Any sign of opposition was met with a swift and brutal response. Nacho had enforced a number of those responses himself.

He’d only been a teenager when he’d been recruited. He had no connections and no aspirations to be a part of the gang, but he’d been restless over the life he saw laid out for himself. He would learn his father’s trade, take over the shop when he died, and live the same constrained, God-fearing life his father had, long and uneventful and neat at the edges.

Then the bandits rolled into town. They didn’t seem intent on sitting around, only causing as much mayhem as they could before they were chased out or arrested. Two of them showed up outside his family’s shop, both with machetes in hand. Nacho grabbed the first weapon he found – an iron fire poker – and stepped outside, ready to lay his life down to protect what was his.

By the time the fight was over, he was bleeding into the dirt and sweating like he’d run a mile, but it didn’t matter, because the bandits were dead. He’d won.

Someone with connections must have been watching, because a few days later he was called to a meeting with Tuco. By the end of the week he was a bag runner, and within two years he was an enforcer. 

The work wore away at him, like water carving through stone, but at the very least Tuco and Hector had been a straightforward kind of evil. Stay in line, and you’ll be rewarded. Step out, and you, your wife, children, parents, cousins and whoever else the Salamancas could find with a blood connection to you would face the consequences. Their rules were simple. 

The same couldn’t be said for the latest Salamanca to waltz into his life.

The first time they met, Nacho could have thought Lalo was a Salamanca in name alone. He smiled and joked and gave off a carefully cultivated impression of warmth. If Nacho hadn’t been watching carefully, Lalo’s charade of humanity might have had him fooled. But there was something off-putting about him, something darker more threatening that even Hector. Nacho couldn’t place it, but it made his stomach turn.

A few weeks into his stay, Nacho brought Lalo a man who’d been smuggling iron out of the mine – in the middle of the night, at Lalo’s request – and the resemblance was right there. Staring down at the miner kneeling in the dirt, cowering at his feet, he wore the same sharp eyes and hard frown that Nacho had seen all too often from Tuco and Hector. But where Tuco and Hector enjoyed an audience for their violence, Lalo had dismissed him.

“You can go now, Ignacio.” He hauled the sputtering man up by the front of his collar. “Get a good night’s sleep.”

When Nacho visited the hacienda a few days later, the patch of dirt where he’d delivered the miner was a deep oxide red.

Nacho had heard of vampires before. They lived in the dark corners of the hand-me-down legends his father had told him as a boy. Those vampires had been cold, pale, horrific to look at. None of them had been as warm or as inviting as Lalo. Nacho told himself that, if business continued as normal, he’d look the other way. But of course, it couldn’t be that easy.

Within a few days of Lalo’s arrival, an Indian family was knocking on every door in the village. Their grandfather had disappeared in the night, without a sound, and leaving no trace. They were desperate to find him, and Nacho had to swallow his guilt when he told them no, sorry, I don’t have any idea where he could’ve gone.

A fortnight later, the baker’s wife was weeping in church as a photograph of her husband was passed down the pews. The priest implored anyone who knew where her husband could have gone to come forward. Nacho’s stomach turned when the photo landed in his hand. He passed it on to the woman next to him.

A month later, there was a near riot in the streets. A senior miner’s eldest daughter had vanished into thin air. His whole crew walked off the job, followed by another, and another, until the whole mine was empty, and the streets were full of angry men ready to march up the hill and burn down the hacienda. Nacho and Carlos had had to clean that one up, sending the priest to calm the men on one side, and bag boys to take the names of the biggest troublemakers on the other. That night, there was an anxious knock on his door. It was his father, carrying the stake.

“Please, son,” he’d begged, pressing it into his palm. “You know was must be done.”

Nacho could feel the point of that stake now pressing against his thigh. It was sharp, and he’d have to be careful not to prick himself at any point in the night. He also needed to be sure to keep any thoughts of the stake out of his thoughts, lest vampires really were capable of reading minds. In either instance, Lalo would sniff him out in a matter of seconds. If he was lucky, he’d kill him quickly enough that Nacho wouldn’t know what had hit him. What would happen if he was unlucky didn’t bear thinking about.

He took three deep breaths before steadying himself and pushing the heavy door open. Every move he made tonight had to convey complete and total confidence.

The walked across the clay-tiled foyer towards the stairs. The Salamanca’s hacienda was set on a hillside that overlooked the whole town. Hector and Tuco had liked to have their meetings in the dining hall, taking shelter from the day’s oppressive heat, always sitting at the head of the table. There was no chatter, no room for diversions, only reports from their enforcers and instructions for the next week.

Lalo was different. For starters, he has his meetings outside, on the balcony that overlooked the valley. During the day it would have been unthinkable, but Lalo also held his meetings on the cusp of evening, only ever emerging once the sun had sunk behind the jagged line of the far mountains.

Lalo was also, surprisingly, very generous with what he had. Every night they met, the tables were laden with food and drink. He never at any of it himself, and only ever drank from a personal decanter. Its stopper was a delicately sculpted glass skull. There was tobacco, too, and he would never let a man leave before he’d had a cigarette. If there was one part of Lalo’s reign that Nacho could tolerate, it was those evening meetings, blowing lazy clouds of smoke over the balcony railings and watching the village below light up house by house as the sky faded from orange to red to purple.

When he reached the second storey, Lalo spotted him from the edge of the balcony. He was wearing a billowing white shirt, top two buttons open. He pointed at him, almost accusatorily, and walked around the table to greet him.

“Ignacio!” He greeted him with a pat on the back. “You are late.”

“I got held up by my dad,” he said. Not a lie, or at least not a big one.

“Ah, no matter,” Lalo gives an approximation of a warm smile and leads Nacho outside with a hand on his back. “Are you thirsty? There’s plenty to go around.”

The others nod in greeting when they see Nacho. Two of them, newer guys, drunkenly raise their glasses in welcome.

Lalo laughs. “They’re glad to see you, huh?” He barely pays them notice. Getting drunk on the boss’s dime is a bad idea.

He’s barely sat down when Lalo is pushing a tumbler towards him. “It’s a new drop,” he says, “had it sent all the way from Veracruz. Try it!”

Nacho sips at the tequila. It burns sweetly at the back of his throats.

“Not bad,” he says.

“Not bad?!” Lalo scoffs. “You’ve barely tried it!” Lalo’s stare is fixed on him, and the insistence feels worryingly like a trap. Nacho yields, taking in a mouthful and swallowing it before he can think too hard about it.

Lalo’s mouth curves into a smile, and Nacho realizes it almost definitely was a trap. What Lalo’s caught him for, though, he can’t say yet.

“Okay!” Lalo says, clasping his hands, “let’s get onto business, shall we?”

The drinkers sit up straight and the smokers step back from the balcony, and then it’s a meeting just like any other. Lalo takes reports and gives instructions. Domingo has heard whispers of a worker’s revolt in the mines. Carlos and his crew torched a tomato plantation whose owner hadn’t pay his share of protection money. Everyone reports on their week’s work while picking away at the food in front of them, until the reports are finished and all that’s left is the food. The night wears on. Lanterns are lit and hung as the chirp of crickets grows louder around them. Someone finds a guitar, and the idle strumming weaves its way through the chatter. A few slices of meat are pulled from the table and tossed down to the dogs who live in front of the compound.

Through the night, Nacho can feel Lalo’s eyes on him. He doesn’t let a thing slip, but Lalo’s eyes remain on him, hard and heavy, but thankfully, it seems, not displeased.

As the night wears on, the crowd starts to thin. One by one they took their leave, slipping back through the house and into the dark of the night, until it was just Nacho, Lalo, and Domingo left. He’s still knew to this, but he’s smart. Nacho knows that he knows what Lalo is. He’s probably waiting until Nacho seems ready to go, reluctant to leave him alone with Lalo.

Nacho mentally scoffs at the idea. As if Domingo could do anything to protect him in that situation.

Lalo’s heavy gaze finally shifts from Nacho and lands firmly on Domingo. He manages a weak smile, but aside from that, his face is an open book of discomfort. Lalo regards him curiously as he pulls out his tobacco pouch.

“Heading home soon, Ocho Loco?”

“Uh,” Domingo stammers, “Nacho? You ready to go?”

Nacho shrugs. “I was thinking of staying a little longer.”

“Oh – okay,” Domingo nods. He probably thinks he’s managing some amount of composure, but he’s looking at Nacho like he’s crazy. Nacho shoots him a very subtle nod. _Go,_ it says. _I’ll be okay._

Domingo nods back, still nod wholly convinced but knowing that arguing is a bad move. He pulls himself out of his chair and with a few goodbyes and one last worried glance, at Nacho, he’s gone. Lalo’s gaze swings back to him. He smiles, no warmth in the expression.

“What’s on your mind, Ignacio?” he says as he sets the cigarette on his lip.

“We have more business to discuss,” Nacho says. “There’s been talk in the village.”

“Oh?” Lalo reaches for his lighter. “And what have they been talking about?”

Nacho drums his fingers against the table, holding onto his cool. “People have been going missing. They locals are getting jumpy.”

“So? People go missing around here all the time.” The lighter sparks into life, and its glow casts hard shadows against Lalo’s face. Nacho can just make out the shimmering flecks of gold in his dark irises.

“Yeah, but it’s the kind of people who are going missing that’s got them worked up.”

Lalo breathes two twin clouds of smoke from his nose, considering Nacho’s words.

“Here’s what I don’t get,” he says, standing from the table. “A lot of people, uh, ‘go missing’ in this area pretty often.” A heavy hand lands on Nacho’s shoulder. “You’ve made a few of them disappear yourself. And no one complains then. What makes these disappearances different?”

Lalo wanders past him and leans over the balcony railing. Nacho’s hand curls into a fist. He’s out of Lalo’s field of vision. The stake suddenly feels very prominent against his hip, but he doesn’t reach for it yet.

“Those guys were involved in this business. It was expected that something would happen to them.” He allows a sharp prick of annoyance in his tone, testing his luck. Lalo doesn’t turn around. Nacho takes a deep breath and reaches for the stake, focusing on the conversation. “But these people were civilians. If too many of them go missing, the town’s gonna start panicking.” The stake is firm in his hand. “If that happens, they might even shut down the mine.”

Lalo hasn’t moved from the railing. He breathes out another cloud of smoke, and it dances in the light of the lantern hanging in the near corner.

“Ay, maybe you’re right, Ignacio.” Lalo stubs the cigarette out on the railing and leans on his folded arms. “But it’s funny, huh? The men that cross my family are part of this village, too. And yet no one seems to care when they disappear. I guess if they’re dumb enough to try and cross a Salamanca, they’re not pillars of the community either. Or the people who care aren’t dumb enough to make any noise about it.”

Nacho slides out of his seat without a sound. It’s the perfect opportunity. Lalo’s back is turned, and he’s so caught up in the sound of his own voice, he doesn’t even notice Nacho edging towards him, raising his stake, ready to strike the deadly blow.

Or so Nacho thinks.

It happens so fast he doesn’t even register Lalo moving until he’s being thrown down against the table. The back of his head smacks hard against the wood. The crash of plates and cutlery shaking with the impact deafens him, and for a moment he sees stars. When his senses come back, he sees Lalo smiling down at him, one fang caught on his lower lip and shining in the lantern light. One hand is wrapped around his throat, limiting his air flow. His other hand is pinning Nacho’s wrist to the edge of the table. He feels the stake slipping from his grip, and that’s when the panic starts to set in, hot and sharp in his stomach.

Lalo’s mouth stretches into a wicked grin. He looks at Nacho from under hooded eyes, assessing him like he’s a petty amusement instead of a true threat.

“Nice try,” he says. He grips Nachoʼs wrist harder, and the stake falls from his limp hand. The clatter it makes against the floor rings in Nachoʼs ears.

“Did you really think that would work?” Lalo laughs coldly. He gives Nacho an appraising once over, and then, as suddenly as he was upon him, he’s gone. He pushes off from the table and stands straight. Nacho sits up, gasping in lungfuls of air and rubbing at his neck. Lalo gives him a charmed laugh, like Nacho’s attempt on his life was cute, and kicks the stake under the balcony railing and into the garden far below.

“Weapons are for cowards, Ignacio,” he says. “If you want to beat me, you’ll have to do it with your own hands.”

Nacho’s brain scrambles through his options. He could beg for his life or make a desperate attempt at escape, but he doubts Lalo would react very well to either. He could leap over the railing, but there’s two storeys between him and the rocky, drought-hardened ground. If the fall didn’t kill him, maybe Lalo would respect his survival instincts enough to grant him a quick death.

Lalo stands there expectantly, fists up, stance squared, eyes daring Nacho to make a choice. All his options are bad ones, but somehow doing as he’s told seems like the best of the bunch.

Nacho swings first. Lalo dodges him easily.

Nacho swings again. And again. Lalo doesn’t even attack or defend, just dodging his hands with such ease he might as well be dancing. One, two, three punches in quick succession, Lalo outmanoeuvres all of them.

Lalo leads the fight, until he’s standing against the railing, the back of Nacho’s thighs just brushing the table.

It’s only been a few seconds, but Nacho’s already panting. He bounces from foot to foot, deciding on his next move. He can’t beat Lalo, not now, not ever, but he might as well go down swinging. He throws another punch, aiming straight for his opponent’s jaw.

Lalo doesn’t dodge.

He strikes.

He catches Nacho’s wrist mid-punch, and with an ease so inhuman it turns Nacho’s stomach, he slams his hand back against the table. Nacho cries out in pain as the edge of his hand is sliced on an upturned knife. Lalo’s grip loosens and he manages to slip his hand away. A dark red wound is blooming on the back of his hand and a bead of blood rolls down his wrist.

Lalo grabs his wrist again, drawing in close, crowding Nacho against the table until he’s practically sitting on it, one of Lalo’s thighs pressed between his own.

“Ay, Nachito,” Lalo coos. He rakes his eyes across the cut, tutting. His free hand lands on Nacho’s other wrist, pinning him to the table. “Now look at what you’ve done. You’ve hurt yourself.”

Nacho struggles against the firm grip and tries to pull away as Lalo laps at the wound on the back of his hand.

His pupils blow wide as soon as the blood touches his tongue, and the way he looks at Nacho when he pulls away sets his face burning. Nacho meets it with all the courage he can manage, until Lalo shoves him back against the table and straddles him. He freezes when he feels Lalo’s lips against his neck.

“It would be so easy,” Lalo murmurs, talking more to himself than to Nacho. Nacho squirms as he nuzzles against the flesh of his neck, breathing in his scent deeply, and licks a wide, wet stripe up the column of his throat. So, this is how Ignacio Vargaʼs life ends. Lalo will sink his teeth into him and drink his blood, down to the last drop. He’s heard rumours that a vampire’s bite is intoxicating, which is how they keep their prey calm enough to feed from them. If heʼs going, he might as well go high.

Lalo’s nose runs against his neck, and the ghost of a laugh warms his skin.

“No,” Lalo sighs. “Perhaps another night. I think thereʼs something else you want.”

Nachoʼs heart stops in his chest. He should know better than trying to keep a secret from a vampire. Lalo presses his forehead to his own, reaching deep into his mind, trying to draw his thoughts out from hiding. He throws up wall after wall, drawing out long buried dreams and memories to try and throw Lalo off, but itʼs too late. Heʼs got the scent, and he wonʼt give up until he finds exactly what heʼs looking for.

Nacho winces as his mind is rifled through, and his stomach drops when he sees what Lalo has found. It was a thought he had a month ago, about Lalo’s forearms, the first time he’d seen him with his sleeves rolled up. It’s not damning, and could easily be interpreted as friendly admiration, if it were the only thought he’d had about Lalo’s body.

Lalo laughs deeply, almost a purr.

“Ohh, Ignacio, you should have known better than to try and hide something from me. What, did you think I would reject you? Have you shot? Tear you apart for daring to think of me in that way?” Lalo must find the image funny, because he laughs warmly in the back of his throat. He lifts a hand to stroke Nacho’s cheek. “You were sorely mistaken. Matter of fact, the feeling is quite mutual.”

Nacho is dumbstruck. He imagined this night going a number of ways. This hadn’t even been within the realm of possibility to him. But as long as he’s still breathing, he has an opportunity.

“Should we get on with it, then?”

For just a moment, Lalo is speechless, surprised at Nacho’s forwardness, until his face breaks into a smile. He doesn’t even respond, setting on him with hungry hands and a merciless mouth. Nacho sighs and allows himself just a moment to be swept up and carried away by Lalo’s touch, before remembering what he came here to do.

“Wait,” Nacho says shakily. He pushes hard against Lalo’s chest, but the force seems to catch Lalo’s attention more than physically move him.

“What, mi querido? What is it?” He brushes his lips against Nacho’s wrist.

“If we do this, you have to promise me something.”

Lalo’s eyebrows shoot up. The affection disappears from his touch. “Oh? And what exactly do I _have to_ promise you, Varga?”

Nacho swallows thickly. He knows he’s probably far overstepped a line, but he’s here now, and Lalo wouldn’t respect a coward any more than a loudmouth.

“The village,” he manages. “You have to promise me that civilians will stop going missing.”

He’s not used to telling off a Salamanca. He has no idea what tone he should use, but Lalo seems to be responding to his current one. “If you have to feed, feed on your rivals, not the people who keep this town running and put the money in your family’s pockets.”

There’s a pregnant pause before Lalo responds, but he finally lets out a laugh that sounds like a threat in Nacho’s ears. His fangs shine in the low light.

“Wow!” He hollers. “Tuco’s guy’s got a solid steel pair, huh?” He grins, but seems to genuinely think on Nacho’s words. “Alright,” he finally says. “No civilians. Rivals only.”

Nacho swallows. That was easier than he thought. “That’s it.”

Lalo’s face splits in a tight smile. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, no problem. Makes sense, what you’re saying about keeping on the locals’ good side.”

“Okay. Yeah.” Nacho nods, still a little shocked that ending Lalo’s killing spree took such little effort. He wraps his arms around Lalo, ready to proceed with events, but Lalo stops him with a wagging finger.

“Hold on,” Lalo says. “Take your jacket off. If you managed to sneak that stake in, who else knows what you’re carrying?”

After only a moment’s hesitation, Nacho obliges. He pulls the jacket off his shoulders and tosses it to the floor. He looks up at Lalo, hands open in question.

“Better?” He asks.

Lalo squints at him, studying him like a painting.

“Not quite.” Lalo grins. He puts a spread hand on Nachoʼs chest and pushes him down until heʼs flat on his back.

“For all I know, you could still be hiding something.” He climbs on top of Nacho, straddling his hips. He grabs the hem of Nachoʼs shirt and begins very methodically unbuttoning it.

“Better safe than sorry, you know?” By the time he reaches the top button, heʼs leaning directly over Nachoʼs chest, as if opening his shirt is the most delicate of procedures. Lalo opens the button and pushes the shirt off Nachoʼs chest with wide, sweeping hands. Nacho lets out a gentle sigh. Lalo’s hands are surprisingly warm for a member of the undead.

“Nope,” Lalo sighs, hands running all the way to Nachoʼs flanks. “Nothing of interest here.” Nacho lifts his head, genuinely offended at the dig, and Lalo meets his eye and give him a teasing wink, before running nails down his body. Nacho makes a strangled sound at the contact, struggling away from the pain and yet somehow wanting more.

“However,” Lalo says, bright and alert like heʼs not driving Nacho halfway to insanity, “you can never be too careful.” He trails nipping kisses down Nachoʼs torso until he reaches the giant snake buckle of his belt. He breathes a laugh against Nachoʼs abdomen, and Nacho just manages to keep himself from bucking his hips.

“Now this is impressive,” he teases, “but for all I know the clasp is made of silver. It’ll have to go.” He unfastens the belt, letting it fall open at Nachoʼs hips as he moves on to his fly.

“These have some pretty deep pockets.” He edges the zipper down. “You could be hiding a crucifix, or even another stake.” He works Nachos waistband downs his hips, excruciatingly slow.

Nacho writhes against his hands and bites his lip in frustration, because Lalo has probed the deepest corners of his mind, of course he knows Nacho has no other weapons. He just wants to see him squirm.

The waistband comes past his hips, and Nacho groans as his trapped cock is finally freed from his tight pants. That damn amused smile is back on Lalo’s face.

“You sure youʼre not packing anything else? Because this-” he squeezes Nachoʼs cock through his briefs and Nachoʼs hips jerk upward, “-has really got my suspicions up.”

“What do you think it is?” Nacho groans.

“Not sure yet,” he says with a shrug. He rubs his palm in small strokes along the middle of his shaft. Nacho’s hips buck before he can stop himself and he breathes out a curse.

“It’s so long and hard – could be another stake.” Nacho doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s smiling. His hands drift up to the waistband of Nacho’s underwear. “Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

Lalo rolls his briefs down, excruciatingly slow, and Nacho flinches when he’s exposed to the cool night air. Lalo keeps pulling them down, scratching red lines down the sides of Nacho’s thighs as he goes, pulling them and his pants down past his knees. For a moment, he just stands there and looks down at him. Nacho doesn’t meet his eye, but he doesn’t cover himself or make any show of resistance. He imagines what he must look like, shirt flayed and pants down, half-hard, spread amongst stale tapas and knocked over glasses. He’s tries not to dwell too hard on the symbolism of the setting.

A single finger trails a line up his ribs, and Nacho dares to look up to see Lalo, frighteningly focused expression plastered on his face, has taken off his shirt. His mouth is suddenly dry at the site of Lalo’s toned chest and torso. Nacho had never expected Lalo to be out of shape, but only now can he appreciate his strong build of his body, and how physically powerful he must be. He sits up tentatively, a hand reaching out to mirror Lalo’s touch, but the single finger stroking him turns into an open hand that pushes him back down against the table. Satisfied with his submission, Lalo’s face breaks into a smile, hand running down Nacho’s abdomen to his now full hardness.

“Now this,” Lalo runs a hand up the length of Nachoʼs stiff prick in a single stroke, “this I wouldn’t mind getting stuck with.” He chuckles low in the back of his throat. Before Nacho can comment on how he expected a centuries-old being to have better pick-up lines, heʼs gasping in shock as Lalo licks the underside of his cock from base to tip, sucking the head as he pulls off.

He’s put a fist in his mouth to keep quiet, and bites down so hard he might have just broken the skin.

Lalo looks up at him with dark, hungry eyes. There’s not a trace of humour in his face or body language.

“Hands. By. Your sides.” It’s not a request. Nacho does as he’s told and lays his palms flat on the table. Lalo gives him a wolfish smile.

“Good boy,” he murmurs, the words ghosting over Nacho’s abdomen. Hearing the innocent praise whispered in such a husky voice sends heat through Nacho’s whole body.

“Have there been others?” Lalo asks, his tone completely business as he twists Nacho’s cock with one hand and unbuckles his own belt with the other.

“A few,” Nacho admits. A handful of flings on the rare trips he’s made away to take care of business out of town.

Lalo growls deep in his chest. Nacho knows he’s being territorial.

“By the time we’re finished, you won’t remember a single one of them.” Lalo punctuates the promise with a shockingly gentle kiss against Nacho’s inner thigh. He fails to hold down a breathy moan.

Lalo plants heavy, sucking kisses around the base of his cock, nimble fingers drifting up his length without providing any real friction. Nacho’s hips buck involuntarily, seeking out whatever more contact he can get.

“Easy,” Lalo chuckles, hands landing heavy on Nacho’s hips. “We’ll get there.” Lalo makes good on his word when he wraps his hand around Nacho’s base and sucks him into the warm wet of his mouth. Nacho breathes out a whimper, the muscles in his thighs tensing at the contact. Lalo moans around him, and the vibration of the sound rolls down his cock and pools in his belly.

Lalo starts bobbing his head, rolling his tongue around Nacho’s tip before swallowing him down to the root, again and again. Nacho’s little gasps start rolling together into one prolonged groan. His eyes start slipping shut, but they jolt back open and his hips jerk when he feels Lalo’s teeth skim across his cock. He looks down with panicked eyes, and Lalo meets his gaze with a wicked smile, fangs bare.

“Sorry,” he breathes, sympathy so transparently fake Nacho doubts he’s even convincing himself. He just wanted to remind Nacho who he was dealing with. “Let me make it up to you.” Lalo hauls himself onto the table and kisses Nacho hungrily. Nacho lands on his back, pulling him closer. He feels Lalo’s cock brush against his thigh and grinds against it, desperate for the contact.

Lalo breaks off the kiss and locks eyes with Nacho as he reaches down between them, taking them both in his hand and stroking fast.

Nacho moans and digs his fingers into Lalo’s back. Lalo pants against the side of his neck, nipping at the lobe of his ear.

“Fuck,” Nacho gasps, “I’m - Iʼm gonna-”

Lalo presses a hard kiss into the line of his jaw and quickens his hand. Nacho’s hips meet his pace. He can feel the heat in the pit of his belly rising and the muscles in his legs tensing, and just as he’s about to come, Lalo strikes. He sinks his teeth into Nacho’s chest, just above his heart.

The sudden blooming pain is overtaken by the most incredible ecstasy he’s ever felt in his life. His whole body is alight with pleasure, and his limbs feel weightless, as if they’ve detached from his body. No drink or drug has ever done to him what Lalo’s bite does. He comes hard in Lalo’s fist, and his orgasm hits him like a rolling wave that lifts him high before dragging him under into the heated bliss of his comedown. He can’t feel the low, prolonged moan leave his throat, but he can hear it reverberating from the underside of the veranda.

Lalo is close behind, but Nacho doesn’t realise he’s coming until he’s resting his forehead on Nacho’s, breathing hot, tobacco-scented groans into his ear. Nacho lifts a rubbery arm and buries his fingers in the hair at the nape of Lalo’s neck, and pulls him down into a deep, grateful kiss. He expects a joke or a laugh or some mocking jab from Lalo at his show of vulnerability, but for a moment Lalo is stunned, and all he can manage to do is kiss Nacho back.

They stay there for a time, Nacho’s whole world limited to Lalo’s lips and body pressing into him. But eventually, the appeal of kissing Nacho’s half-asleep mouth wears off, and Lalo pulls away. He pulls his pants back on and catches his breath for a moment, before finding a clean napkin under the table and beginning to wipe Nacho down. He’s still caught up in the high of the bite, eyes drifting up to Lalo, a grin spreading on his face. Lalo realizes he’s never seen Nacho smile before.

“It was good for you, huh?” he chuckles. Nacho nods.

“Definitely.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Lalo says. “Let’s get you cleaned up and on your way home, huh?” He pulls Nacho up by the shoulders into a sitting position, but a crease forms between the other’s brows. There was something he came here to do. What was it again?

“Wait,” Nacho says groggily. He stills Lalo with a hand on his wrist. “What about our deal? The villagers?”

“Enforcing an agreement even with your pants around the ankles.” Lalo sighs wistfully. He strokes Nacho’s forehead, pushing back a strand of hair that isn’t there. “Are you sure your mother wasn’t a Salamanca?”

“After that?” Nacho heaves a sigh, eyes concerned. “I sure hope not.”

Lalo laughs, and it’s the first genuine laugh he’s had in a while. He sets off Nacho, who laughs so hard he had to lean on Lalo’s chest for support. Lalo’s hand lands on the curve of his back, holding Nacho steady against the tremors of his own laughter. He’s cute like this, all smiles and gentle hands and inhibitions cast to the wind. Lalo hopes they keep this up. It’d be a shame to see Nacho bitten only once. He pats Nacho’s back, and his hand wanders idly to the side of neck. _It would be so easy…_

“The villagers will be safe, mi amor,” he says softly. “You have my word.”

Nacho nods. He leans in and presses a grateful kiss to Lalo’s chest.

“Thank you,” he breathes.

Lalo returns to wiping Nacho down with the napkin, and when he’s satisfied, pulls up his pants and buckles his belt. He can deal with the shirt himself.

“I’d offer to let you stay the night, but I don’t think you’re in the state to make that decision.”

“Ditto,” Nacho sighs, rubbing an eye with the heal of his palm. Lalo recognizes the signs; he’s starting to come back down to earth.

He leads Nacho down to the front door, and by the time the reach the exit, his arm is tense under Lalo’s hand. He pulls Nacho close with an arm over his shoulders and feels the other man flinch. Good. He’s on the ground again.

“I had a wonder time tonight, Ignacio,” he sighs. He draws loose circles on the side of Nacho’s arm, when his touch suddenly becomes cold. “But don’t think I forgot what your intentions were tonight.”

Nacho grows even more tense under his arm.

“Look,” Nacho starts, “if you’re gonna kill me-”

“No, none of that,” Lalo says, flicking his hand as if batting the thought out of existence. “That is the past now. Luckily, you and I were able to come to an arrangement which satisfied all parties involved.” He grips Nacho a little tighter. “But someone else might get the idea in their head to try the same thing, maybe someone a little better at killing, and a little less open to negotiation.” His laugh sends a chill down Nacho’s spine.

“I have been around for a very, very long time, Ignacio. Much bigger threats than you have tried to challenge me, and I’ve outlived them all.” Lalo pulled him around to face him, hands on either arm, locking him in like a vice. “Youʼre lucky, because I find you very… entertaining. But if you hear any of your little village friends talking about trying what you tried tonight,”

He leans in close to Nachoʼs ear.

“I would strongly advise against it. Okay?”

Nacho can’t meet Lalo’s eye, but he nods. Lalo takes him by the chin and turns his face to look at him. He leans in and kisses Nacho sweetly, chastely, like they’re teenagers seizing the moment when the chaperone’s back is turned.

“See you next week, huh?” Lalo practically pushes Nacho out of the door, and even has the audacity to pat him on the ass on his way out. The slam of heavy door behind him rings in Nacho’s ears as he tries to catch his breath. He touches the back of his hand, expecting sticky, dried blood, but instead he finds the wound clean and sealed. In the dim light he can make out the line of the cut, deep enough that it’ll probably scar. He reaches into the front of his shirt and finds the bite there clean too, only the small imprints of Lalo’s teeth left. Nacho shakes his head. If it’s not causing him any trouble, he doesn’t need an answer right now.

He hunts around in the bushes in front of the house for fifteen minutes before he finds the stake. He shakes his head and slips it into the waistband of his pants. Best not to clue anyone else in on what he now knows for sure. He doesn’t know what he’ll say the next time he sees his dad, but at least he got what he came for.


End file.
